


Retelling

by Amelia_Clark



Series: Good Books, Bad Movies [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Bathtub Sex, Birthday Presents, Bottom!Cas, Burgers - Freeform, Cas is a very bossy bottom, Fluff, Light Bondage, M/M, Middle Names, Oral Sex, Pie, Rimming, Road Trip!, Schmoop, Top!Cas, and I love it, anyone live in Hannibal cause this restaurant sounds AMAZING, birthday sex!, bottom!Dean, gratuitous interior design, pie for breakfast, poor orphan Dean, sorry Victorians, there's gonna be so much sex in this one, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Clark/pseuds/Amelia_Clark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas haven't had sex for two long months, while they try to get their relationship on firmer footing. But tonight is Dean's birthday, and Cas wants to treat him right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Happy birthday, boss! From all of us." Charlie dropped a rectangular package wrapped in leftover Christmas paper onto Dean's desk.

"Festive," he said, hefting it—it was 99% likely to be a book, but sometimes people surprised him. This gift, though, had the familiar bend of a paperback, so the only question was the title. "Want me to open it now?"

"Nah, it's for later, when you're with your boyyyyyfriend," she cooed. He raised a warning eyebrow, and she added hastily: “No, Dean, I swear on Wash’s grave it’s nothing dirty. I mean, _I_ wanted to throw in flavored lube, but Kevin put his foot down, and then Anna was pissed at me for being smutty in front of the young ‘un, and anyway it was a whole kerfuffle. No lube, is what I’m saying."

"Thank God for small favors," he said, blushing. Charlie kissed his cheek and headed to the floor.

Another month had passed with Cas and Dean in different states, in frequent but maddeningly figurative contact. But tonight they were meeting in Hannibal again, spending the weekend together at a Gilded Age mansion remodeled into a swank bed & breakfast. It was more time than Dean had taken off since the store opened, and it was only possible now that his staff had convinced him to hire a part-timer: Krissy, a sixteen-year-old girl with an encyclopedic knowledge of paranormal love-triangle YA. And an actual work ethic; she'd been in after school every day this week for training, and Dean actually wasn't nervous about leaving Charlie in charge for two days with Krissy to back her up.

No, what he was nervous about was seeing Cas again. Because this time, they were going to have sex, after months of near-celibacy (barring a session of phone sex or two). And they'd agreed Dean would top, as a symbol that they were starting over with this aspect of their relationship.

Dean had no qualms about the actual act, but the weight of it—that now he'd be fucking someone he was in love with, someone who knew so much about him and loved him back anyway—made him panicky, like something was stuck in his throat. He felt...well, dammit, he'd had 80s Madonna running through his head for three days, and that kind of summed it up.

These worries nibbled away at him on the drive, three hours of unwanted introspection. At least once he got to Hannibal, there were directions to distract him—and then the mansion where they were staying came into view, and his jaw dropped.

Dean didn't know architecture for shit, so his best guess at the house's style was "tycoon": it had pillars, for God's sake, like a legislature or something, and it was huge, stretching along a limestone bluff over the Mississippi. Cas, who was treating (simultaneously awesome and embarrassing to have a boyfriend with a lot more disposable income), had picked it because Mark Twain had stayed there once, and he had chosen well.

And shit, there he was, sitting in the reclined front seat of his Saab, reading a book. Dean's body ran through a litany of cliches: his heart both leapt and skipped a beat, his stomach plummeted, his breath caught. Fuck, Cas was hot. He really needed to take him out in public sometime, enjoy the wistful looks from folks who could look but not touch.

Dean could touch. Finally, tonight, he could touch all he wanted.

He parked a few spaces away and walked over to knock on his window. "Hey, baby," he said, and smiled when Cas's eyes went from startled to joyful in an instant. Cas threw the door open and grabbed him, spinning them around so Dean was crowded against the car, Cas’s hands tight on his waist.

"I missed you," Cas said, and kissed him, hard.

*******

God, he’d missed Dean. Their marathon New Year’s Eve kiss had only served to light a fire in Cas that had simmered for weeks like a low-grade fever. It was just so good to be in his arms again, to have that full mouth working against his. This beautiful, good man, _his._

He thought of the Kafka quote tattooed up his right forearm: _A book should be the ax for the frozen sea within us._ Dean was that ax, his beauty a blade, crashing through Cas’s defenses—no, wait, fuck, he was doing it again. 

_He’s not a metaphor, he’s a man,_ he reminded himself sternly. _Do him the courtesy of treating him like one._

Cas pulled back, leaving Dean gasping. “Hi,” he said. “We should probably get inside before I bend you over the hood of that behemoth of yours and ruin all our plans.”

“Right, yeah, definitely wanna avoid that horrible fate,” said Dean. “This place is ridiculous, dude! Old-timey one-percent, all the way. Have you stayed here before?”

“Nope. Never had a reason to stay overnight in this town. But you’re more than enough.”

Dean’s eyes flickered away, and Cas could almost see the gears turn, the internal struggle before he looked back at him and held his gaze. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean’s awe at his surroundings only continued as they wandered through the grand lobby and climbed the stairs to their room—the original master suite, still crammed with hardwood furniture, including a mammoth four-poster bed that sparked all sorts of ideas. “Dude!” Dean kept exclaiming. “Dude, there’s a fuckin’ _pull chain_ on the toilet. We are gonna make some Victorians roll over in their graves tonight, Cas.”

“You don’t think they would approve?” Cas teased.

“Not if we do it right.” Dean gave him a glance that could only be described as “smoldering,” and the simmer in Cas’s blood was suddenly in danger of boiling over.

“Should we—should we go get dinner? Cake—or, no, pie? Birthday pie?” he blurted, unable to stop staring.

Dean stalked—stalked, like a panther, across the room, backed Cas into the fireplace and pinned him with his hips. “I hate to use a line, Cas, but you know that’s not what I’m hungry for.”

Cas whimpered in the moment before their mouths collided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://rockcliffemansion.com/) is where they're staying, in the [first room from the top.](https://rockcliffemansion.com/B___B_Accommodation.html) Lucky bastards.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pushed him back with the force of his kiss, running both hands down Cas’s arms to intertwine their hands. Cas slipped a thigh between his legs and pressed up, and Dean dropped his head onto his shoulder, grinding against him, and brought Cas’s hands up on either side of his head, shifting to pin his wrists to the mantel.

Then he hesitated; Cas tilted his head without opening his eyes when he felt Dean’s hold slacken. “You OK?” he asked. “You don’t have to push me around, Dean. Nothing says you have to dominate me to fuck me.”

Dean let out a slow breath, let go of his wrists. “Yeah, it’s just—it’s not my style. I like—is gentle and slow OK? I want you to enjoy this.” He shook his head suddenly, like he was trying to get something out. “Fuck, this is ridiculous. I just want things to be perfect, you know?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Cas hitched one leg up around Dean’s hips, and Dean automatically grabbed it, boosting it with his forearm while his hand crept down to settle on his ass. “What do you want, Dean?” Cas asked, holding his gaze. “For God’s sake, it’s your birthday, you don’t even have to top if that doesn’t feel right. I think you know how much I wouldn’t mind.” He rolled his hips, just in case Dean needed a demonstration.

Dean’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, but they opened full of resolve. “No. I wanna be inside you tonight, Cas. I want you to ride me.” He nudged Cas’s leg down till his foot hit the floor, and fumbled with his belt. “First I’m gonna suck your cock, though.”

“I’m surprised it took you this long,” said Cas with a smirk in his voice, and Dean shot him a dirty look from his knees.

“Whatever, you love it,” he said, tugging Cas’s pants down to his ankles. He reached beneath his waistband and ran his fingers down Cas’s cock, held it against his stomach while he maneuvered his boxers off too. It sprang free when Dean moved his hands onto Cas’s hipbones, angled just right for his lips, and the phrase “true north” came and went in Cas’s head before Dean sucked his way up the ridge and slid his mouth over the head with a pleased hum.

Cas worked his fingers through Dean’s hair, too short to pull—just clutched and petted while Dean blew him, Dean’s head moving back and forth slowly, taking him a little deeper every time. There was the slightest pause while Dean found his limit, a quick spasm in his throat, but he breathed through it and kept going, one hand slipping between Cas’s legs to tease at the base of his cock and brush lightly over his balls, back further to glide over his hole.

Cas encouraged with wordless sounds while he cupped his jaw, feeling the sure swish of his tongue through his cheek, the muscles shifting while Dean pulled back, pushed forward. He was closer than he wanted to be to orgasm, after weeks without, and soon he gently eased Dean’s mouth off of him, relishing the glint in Dean’s eyes when he leaned back in, flicking his tongue over the tip. “I’ve told you you’re really, really good at that, right?” said Cas, not bothering to keep his voice even. “I should tell you again.”

“Thank you.” Dean grinned proudly and sat back on his haunches. “You need to be wearing far fewer clothes.”

Glancing down at himself, Cas had to agree: his pants were down, but he was still technically dressed from the waist up, blue tie askew from their embraces over a white button-down. Dean, meanwhile, hadn’t even taken off his jacket. “Get me naked, then,” Cas said. “Start from where you are.”

“Oh, I see, bossy bottom. I can live with that.” Dean untied Cas's shoes, rolled off his socks; he brushed a feather-light finger over the arch of one foot, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. Cas had proven ticklish before, but he could sometimes overcome it, and oh how he tried, biting his lip and taking shaky little breaths through his nose, before the giggle finally burst out and he nearly kicked Dean in the face. Dean laughed in relief at the near-miss and pulled Cas's pants off with a triumphant flourish. "Half done," he said.

"You're a brat."

"Yep." Dean scooted closer on his knees, face far too close to Cas's cock while he reached up to undo the shirt buttons he could reach; then he nipped at Cas's stomach and braced himself on his hips to stand up, grabbing a kiss on the way. "There you are, hot stuff."

"Happy birthday," Cas said again. It was the only phrase he could remember. He wondered if Dean could support his weight, fuck him standing up against the century-old fireplace, or, no, turned around to face the mirror, watching Dean's face over his shoulder while he pounded into him..."Fuck, Dean, please, get on with it. I want you."

"Gentle and slow, remember?" Dean murmured, loosening his tie. He nudged Cas's chin, kissed his throat as if to swallow his heartbeat. "It's been so long since I touched you like this, I don't want to hurry."

Cas whined and shoved at Dean's jacket. "You can lose a layer, at least. Please, Dean, it's not fair."

Sighing, Dean shucked the jacket. "I'll go you one better," he said, and pulled his henley over his head, leaning in to get Cas's shirt completely off and on the floor. He pressed their chests together and kissed him, soft and sweet.

"Yes, better," said Cas when their mouths parted, and he wrapped a bare leg around Dean again. "Do you think you can lift me?"

"I can try," Dean said, and planted his feet to help boost him up. Cas crossed his ankles over Dean's ass and held on while Dean tested his weight. "Uh, I can get us to the bed, but that's about it," he admitted.

"That's fine. That's where I want to be." Cas clung with thighs and arms while Dean stumbled across the room, laughing when Dean dropped him onto the bed with an oof and landed half on top of him, one foot still on the floor. Dean cut off his laugh with a kiss, and Cas ran his hands up his back, clutching at his shoulder blades.

"Baby," Dean said, "Cas, baby, you're so fucking hot, can't believe I get to fuck you," and bit down on his shoulder, hard enough that Cas hissed and bucked his hips.

"If you ever get around to it," Cas said, trying to get a hand under his waistband to grab his ass.

Dean stood abruptly and stripped off the rest of his clothes, tripping over the leg of his jeans before falling back onto the bed. "Dammit, lube," he muttered, and got back up to get what he needed, while Cas scooted up farther on the mattress.

When Dean hopped back up, he rested on his back and pulled Cas to straddle him. They kept kissing while Dean lubed up one hand and spread Cas's cheeks, running a slick finger around his rim until it pushed through. Cas gasped; so did Dean. 

The kiss turned sloppy while Dean readied him, sometimes just open mouths panting against each other, until finally Cas slapped a palm down onto Dean's chest and said _"Now"_ in a voice that brooked no argument. Dean guided his cock against him, and Cas took it in inch by inch, groaning at the fullness.

"Fuck," said Dean, and Cas nodded, raised his hips and dropped down as hard as he could. "Fuck me, Cas," Dean said, breathless, and then lost his words entirely. Cas rode him while jacking himself, holding back the urge to be quick and dirty, wanting to give Dean the tender sex he asked for; Dean stopped trying to lead, just laid back and thrust, hands on Cas's hips.

Dean was making different noises than he did when Cas fucked him, coarse and guttural. Cas urged him on: "Louder, Dean, come on. Wake the Victorians." Cas sped up, despite his thigh muscles' protests, and felt his own orgasm building. Soon, Dean came with a shout, and Cas followed, spilling over Dean's ribs, then collapsing over him, exhausted.

"Baby, move, I gotta pull out," said Dean after a minute, and Cas rolled off, stretching his legs. Dean left him to dispose the condom and clean off his come, and he brought back a damp washcloth for Cas, tossing it onto his stomach.

"How's that for a second first time?" Dean asked, almost shy.

"Perfect," said Cas. "Although now I'm gonna need a nap before dinner."

Dean smiled and climbed into bed beside him. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wake the Victorians" is from a comment on the last chapter by [Willbakefordean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Willbakefordean/profile). Thanks for letting me steal it!


	3. Chapter 3

Dean woke with a start and a faceful of Cas's hair. After his usual moment of disorientation, made all the worse by the antique furnishings— _wait, did I go back in time? Am I in bed with the Doctor?_ —he remembered: birthday. Missouri. Hot naked boyfriend. He nudged the latter. "Hey, Cas. Wake up, babe. Now I'm actually hungry for food."

Cas made a despairing sound. "Five more minutes," he protested, rubbing his stubbly cheek over Dean's chest.

"Castiel Middle Name Novak, you're gonna be late for school," said Dean in a stern tone, and Cas blinked up at him in shock.

"That's—I honestly can't figure out whether that's hot or the exact opposite."

"It's me, Cas, obviously it's hot." Dean sat up, trying to drag Cas up with him, and was met by dead-weight resistance. "Come on, dude, it's like seven p.m. If we sleep any longer we'll be up all night."

"Dean Middle Name Winchester, if you were planning to get any sleep at all tonight, you were sorely mistaken."

"OK, you're right, that's not hot. And Patrick. Uh, my middle name."

"Hmm, how very white of you."

"Hey, I'm named for my grandmothers! They were awesome ladies." Dean paused. "You?"

"Oh God, do I have to tell you?"

"Well, now you do, yeah! Is it a girl's name? The city where you were conceived? The model of car where you were conceived?"

Cas groaned. "No, it is much, much worse than any of those. It's—oh God, can’t I save it for our wedding night or something?"

"Not if you want me to ever put out again." Cas buried his face in a pillow and muttered something. "Didn't quite catch that?" said Dean, poking him.

It required more poking, of the tickle-threatening kind, but eventually Cas sat up, red-faced, and blurted: "Angel-of-the-Lord, OK? Angel-of-the-fucking-Lord. With hyphens."

Dean laughed himself into a coughing fit, and then coughed himself back into laughter. "Dude, I am so, so sorry, and also I'm not sorry at all, because that is _so_ much better than I could've hoped. Best birthday gift ever."

“And doesn’t that just make it all worth it.” Cas's mock-scowl broke into a smile, and Dean couldn't help but kiss him.

"I'm sorry, babe. Your parents are terrible assholes, and I promise to tell them so if we ever accidentally meet. But speaking of birthday presents, Charlie gave me one from the guys at the store I was supposed to open with you." He stretched and got up to retrieve it, swaying his hips gratuitously.

"Uh, is it a dildo?" Cas said cautiously. "And Dean, you better stop shaking that ass at me if you want to leave the room in the next hour."

"You're no fun. But no, she promised it wasn't smutty—it's a book, see?" Dean hopped back onto the bed and ripped it open.

It wasn't a book, technically, but a cheaply printed lit mag called _Angeli et Daemones_ ; on the cover, an illustration of a nude man with flaming wings. Dean frowned at it. "Never heard of this. Is this Lucifer on the front?"

"Oh my God," said Cas, stroking his fingers reverently across the cover. "How did they find this?"

"What? What is it?"

"It's the first magazine I published in. I was 23, and a friend of a friend in Chicago put it together. I think it folded after three issues? My God. Can I hold it?"

Dean handed it over readily. Cas paged through it, quickly finding the page he was looking for. "Look," he said. "'Perdition: A Love Story,' by C.A. Collins." To Dean's look of confusion: "I used it for a while. I was afraid of people from my hometown finding me, until I realized they'd all decided I was good as dead." He clutched Dean's hand. "Dean, tell them thank you. Tell them—I can't believe they found this, I haven't seen a copy in a decade. I don't even have one myself anymore; got all my stuff stolen in a bus station in Idaho a few years later."

"Charlie's Google-fu is unparalleled," said Dean with pride. "Can I read it?"

"Of course, it's your gift," Cas said, but he didn't hand it back. "Actually...can I read it out loud to you? It's not my best work, but I'd love to share it."

"I would freaking love that, Cas. Your reading voice is sexy as hell." Dean leaned in and nipped at his earlobe. "Uh, after dinner, though? I'm starting to get cranky."

"Of course," said Cas. "What are you in the mood for?"

"Oh, man, I know I should ask for something fancy, but I just want burgers. And pie."

"Burgers and pie it is, then. Simple pleasures for my complicated man." A few minutes' research led them to a brewpub that featured something called the "Twain Stache burger," and Dean had his pants on almost before Cas had finished reading the description.

The restaurant was in a remodeled warehouse downtown, less than a block from Twain's boyhood home; Dean was soon embarked on a celebratory beer flight, and wrinkled his nose when Cas chose to order the spent grain veggie burger. "Ugh, you seriously need to meet my brother," he said. "You can tsk at my diet together."

"I would very much like to meet him someday, Dean," Cas said, sipping the one cocktail he'd granted himself. "I'd like you to meet Gabe as well, and Daphne."

Dean choked on his drink. "Uh, is that wise? Doesn't she hate me?"

"Good Lord, Dean, no, not at all. She doesn't even hate _me,_ remember? I told her about you at Christmas, and she wished us joy." Cas smiled. "I may have gushed a little."

"I'd hope so, since my awesomeness is well established." Dean grinned and toasted himself.

"Sometimes I don't understand how you can be so arrogant and so down on yourself at the same time."

"Yeah, welcome to being bipolar."

When their food arrived, the moan Dean let out around his first mouthful of burger was so orgasmic Cas actually blushed. “Dean, we’re in public,” he hissed. “Stop making those noises or I’ll be forced to give you a handjob under the table.”

“Wait, how do you think that’s a deterrent?” And indeed, Dean spent the rest of dinner teasing, making all the sounds Cas loved in bed while the other man sat there half-hard, digging his nails into his own palm as a futile distraction.

The meal hit a snag with the tragic news that the restaurant didn't serve pie—but the waitress was able to direct them to a nearby bakery, and Dean picked out a fresh-baked pecan beauty he refused to let go of until they were back at the hotel. Whereupon Cas grabbed it, set it on the bureau, and picked Dean up in a fireman's carry, dumping him flat on his back on the bed and climbing on top of him. "You little tease," he growled. "Do you know what you were doing to me?"

"Yeah, I think I've got a pretty good idea," said Dean with a grin, sliding his hand over Cas’s groin.

After a few kisses, though, Dean pulled back. “Hey, if it’s OK with you, I’d kind of like to just eat pie in our underwear while you read me your story? First, I mean. Then I’m all yours.”

“Of course,” said Cas, and so they stripped down to boxers and curled up in bed, eating pie out of the tin with plastic forks while Cas read. Dean scarfed down half the pie—despite his enormous supper—while he listened; there were some awkward sentences and way too many adverbs, but the bones of Cas’s mature style were there.

 _“’I’d rather have you, cursed or not,’”_ he finished, and without a word, Dean set the pie aside, took the magazine from his hands, and kissed him.

Cas deepened the kiss, pulled him in by his waist, and pressed him back into the pillows. He ran a hand down the lithe line of Dean’s side, then, on a whim, seized his wrists and guided them over his head. "Stay there," he growled, and went to retrieve his tie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Home of the Twain Stache Burger.](http://www.marktwainbrewery.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked for a recommended reading list to go with the series, so [here you go!](http://silibrumportes.tumblr.com/post/98237464619/good-books-bad-movies-recommended-reading-viewing) (Please note my Tumblr's like 5% Destiel. It is mostly books and cats.)

"What're you doing?" Dean kept his hands together above his head but rocked onto his side a little, watching Cas rummage through their pile of clothes.

"Finding—ah, finding this," said Cas, straightening up to show Dean the tie in his hand. "I'd like to bind your wrists, if you're willing."

"Yeah? Yeah, I can definitely deal with that. You wanna tie me to one of the bedposts?"

"I'm not sure the tie's long enough. I was thinking I'd just lash your wrists together, but you could still move your arms? I don't want this to be overwhelming."

"Dude, I've been tied up before, that's practically vanilla. Spicy vanilla, if you will. Not gonna freak out on you."

"Be that as it may, I'd prefer to start slow. My bondage background is mostly theoretical, and besides, I'm not good with knots, really? My parents thought the Boy Scouts would turn me gay."

"Wait, how does that even make sense?"

"It doesn't." Cas climbed up next to him and looped the tie around one wrist, then the other, winding it into a double figure eight before knotting it in the middle. "Is that comfortable? Secure?"

Dean tugged his wrists apart slightly—there was some give, but he still felt restrained. "Nah, that's good. So what are you planning to do to me, all trussed up and helpless?"

“I’ll make it up as I go along,” said Cas, and slipped off Dean’s boxers.

Dean closed his eyes and waited to be touched, hoping he'd worked Cas up enough during dinner to keep him from drawing this out—and sure enough, Cas moved quickly to press him into the mattress, matching the lines of Dean’s body with his own. He covered the cloth around Dean's wrists with both hands and stared down at him, that unwavering blue gaze that felt more intimate to Dean than a lot of the sex he's had in the past. "Same safe word as last time, I suppose? 'Lamp'?" Cas said.

"I guess," said Dean. "It's a dumb one to be stuck with, but at least no one else is gonna hear it."

"Only me," purred Cas, rolling his hips down slightly.

"Yeah, that's right, baby, only you," gasped Dean. "Any chance you could do that again?"

"Mmm, yes." Cas rocked more sharply, and slid his mouth along Dean's jaw to his neck. Dean made appropriate noises of appreciation, then hissed as Cas brushed a thumb across one nipple; his tongue followed, warm and slippery, and the sensation went straight to Dean's cock, which twitched against Cas's belly. "Wait your turn," said Cas sternly, shifting out of reach, and turned his attention to the other nipple.

Writhing beneath him, Dean raised his hips enough to find friction, whereupon Cas pushed them back down and held them there. "Serves you right for dinner, Dean. I'm in charge right now…unless you say different, of course."

"Bossy, bossy," Dean groaned, flexing his bound fists. He considered tangling them in Cas's hair—he had that much movement at least—but that seemed like cheating, so they stayed on the pillow. "No, this is what I want, you know that."

"Never hurts to check." Cas bent to Dean's chest again, this time to use his teeth; unable to thrust, Dean yelped and shuddered. He felt Cas's lips curve into a smile on his skin before he bore down again.

“Yeah, that’s it, bite me,” Dean pleaded, and Cas continued to oblige, gnawing a mark into his collarbone, nibbling at the soft flesh near his navel. He pushed Dean’s thighs apart, settled between them, and released his hipbones, biting down sharply where his hands had been. Able to move at last, Dean nudged his cock against Cas’s throat; “please,” he murmured, and Cas turned his head and sank down, tongue curling around the head, lips stretching wide around the shaft.

Dean cheated—brought his hands down to grab a double fistful of hair, and gave himself over to the pleasure, world narrowing to this and only this: Cas’s mouth on his cock, Cas’s nails scratching slowly up and down his sides. He looked down to watch, and Cas caught his glance, held it with those searing eyes that had found him across the bookstore months ago. The want that had floored Dean then was layered now with tenderness, affection, and he blurted out “love you” before he could swallow the words.

Cas pushed Dean’s hands away so he could free his mouth and just beamed, joy written in every line of his face. “I love you too, Dean,” he said.

They regarded each other across Dean’s torso, half solemn, half giddy, until: “Come here, please,” Dean said, and moved his wrists back over his head to make room as Cas reared up and kissed him again.

Dean swiped his tongue deep into Cas's mouth, like love was something he could taste; Cas took his face in both hands, rolled them onto their sides, planted tiny kisses over Dean's cheeks, his nose, his eyebrows. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered. "You burn through me like a falling star."

"I don't know what that means," Dean said.

"You—you light me up, you destroy me. You make me new."

"Fuck, Cas, quit it. Too fancy. I can take the ordinary stuff, but I'm...you can't hang your metaphors on me just yet, OK? Let me just be me. Here, with you."

"Sorry, I can't help it, it's reflex," said Cas, kissing the corner of his eye. "I'll tone it down. Can I fuck you?"

"Mmm, yeah."

Cas retrieved the lube and laid down facing him, coaxing a leg up over his waist. "Your hands still all right? Nothing's numb?" Dean nodded, and Cas went back to kissing him, running a hand down his spine to the cleft of his ass. Shifting his knee further to give Cas better access, Dean relaxed into the slick pressure of his fingers, letting out a needy whimper as one slid into him slowly.

"Good? You want more?" Dean panted out assent, groaning at the press of two fingers, probing gently to find his prostate. "There we go," said Cas when Dean gasped, and rubbed the spot again. Dean's hips jerked forward, and Cas moved closer, their cocks flush through fabric, their mouths an inch apart. 

"Do you think I could make you come like this?" Cas asked, his voice maddeningly even. "Fuck you with my fingers until you come all over yourself?"

"You know you can," said Dean. "But I want your cock, please, feels so good, Cas."

"Two seconds. Curse my lack of telekinesis." But he was back with the condom as quickly as possible, kneeling on the bed and guiding Dean over him; Dean slipped his bound hands around Cas's neck and took him in, wriggling down until he was fully seated, cock snug against Cas's belly.

"Ohhh, babe, it's not gonna take much. Fuck me hard, OK? Make me come."

Words got lost then, turned into shaky breaths and moans as Cas thrust into him, rough and wild, until Dean cried out with the force of his orgasm—and then Cas flipped him over, pushed in from behind, biting down on his shoulder when he came himself. After a moment of rest, Cas pulled out and untied Dean’s hands; he frowned a little at the red line they’d left on his skin, stroked it gently. “You OK?” he asked.

“Fine and dandy. Good work, us.”

They cleaned up and tucked into bed with a couple of books; Dean leaned back against the million pillows, and glanced over at the man beside him, stretched out in his stomach with a hardcover splayed in from of him, reading intently. _Every night,_ he thought. _I want every night to be like this._

And he turned back to his book.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you missed it, I made a [list of recommended reading/viewing](http://silibrumportes.tumblr.com/post/98237464619/good-books-bad-movies-recommended-reading-viewing) on my personal (i.e., mostly books and cats, little SPN) Tumblr.

Cas was watching Dean sleep. Not on purpose, really. He'd bolted awake at three a.m., and was reaching for a book to pass the time when Dean made a noise beside him. Just a whimper, a scrap of dream showing through—but it was enough to catch his attention, and once he was looking at Dean it was hard not to keep doing so.

He looked much younger, like everyone did in sleep, lines of worry relaxed, and his beautiful mouth was slightly open, his hands slack against the sheets. His eyes trembled beneath their lids, lashes fluttering, and he whimpered again, rolling over to face Cas's side of the bed and pulling his limbs closer to his body, one foot brushing Cas's calf as he tucked up his knees. Cas wanted to touch, to hold him; afraid Dean might wake up and unwilling to disturb his rest, he held back. But he still didn't look away.

Cas wondered how long they could go on like this: meeting halfway, marathon sex weekends now and then, long phone conversations like a couple of kids, talking themselves past the point of coherence almost every night. It was a relationship of sorts, but not the one he really wanted, and he wasn't sure it satisfied Dean either. Cas had only done long-distance once before, with April; she'd been a grad student at Purdue, and headed off to a summer fellowship soon after they started dating. Despite pledging fidelity, he'd lasted two weeks until he fucked someone else, and then four days later he fucked a different someone else, and so forth. He'd waited to break up with her until they were together in person, and then, of course, she'd stabbed him. It wasn't an experience he wanted to replicate.

Dean reached for him then, clutched his bicep and nudged his nose into the crook of his elbow; Cas sighed and turned into him, gathered him in, rested his cheek on the top of his head and listened to him breathe until he, too, fell asleep.

*******

A few hours later, Cas woke in nearly the same position, except Dean was wide-eyed and smiling at him, chin propped on his fist. “Morning, sunshine,” he said. 

Cas grunted. “I do not understand how you’re fully conscious so early, Dean.”

“Dude, it’s 9:30, we slept for ten hours. You’re just spoiled.”

"No, you're spoiled. Think you can have me at all hours."

"Ideally, yes." Dean angled up to kiss him soundly. "So what do you want to do today? I mean, besides rimming me in that gigantic claw-foot tub."

"Oh, am I doing that, then?"

"Yep, it's on the schedule. 9:30, finish off that pie, 10:00, lick my ass in the tub, 10:30, head out for second breakfast."

"Really, you want to pie for breakfast? Yankee."

"Uh, what?"

"It's a saying. Twain, I think. 'To foreigners, a Yankee is an American. To Americans, a Yankee is a Northerner. To a Northerner, a Yankee is a New Englander. To New Englanders, a Yankee is a Vermonter. And in Vermont, a Yankee is somebody who eats pie for breakfast.'"

"Well, we'll move to Vermont then, open up a quaint little B&B."

"Perfect. We can end up starring in a Gordon Ramsay show, because I have less than no business sense."

"Hey, I'm an entrepreneur, babe. Pillar of the community."

"And it's fucking hot." Cas ran a hand down Dean's back to squeeze his ass. "All right, let's get this show on the road. Where did you put that pie?"

*******

"Yeah," Dean mumbled, "yeah, just like that." They were on their knees in the water, Dean bent over the edge of the tub, Cas behind him, crouching to lick at the pucker of his hole. He spread Dean's cheeks wider and pointed his tongue, circled it around the rim; Dean ground against his face, gasping. 

"That's so nice," Dean sighed as Cas lapped at his ass; as usual, his responsiveness dizzied Cas, spurred him on, and he worked the tip of his tongue inside, flicking it in and out while Dean whined, "Baby, that's so good. I want—will you fuck me? Please?"

Cas turned his head, bit at the flesh of his ass. "Of course I will. Keep your ass up." The water sloshed around them while he reached for the lube on the floor; kneeling closer and curling over Dean's body, he prepped him, kissing softly over a bite mark he'd left on his neck last night. "You amaze me, Dean. The way you want me, welcome me, it's intoxicating. I get drunk on you, you know that?" Dean made an _mmmph_ -ish noise and pushed back onto his fingers.

The tub had gone lukewarm by the time Cas eased in, rocking his hips and groaning. He stopped with his cock buried deep, wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s waist. “Goddamnit,” Dean said. “You fit inside me so goddamn well.” Cas pulled back to thrust, and Dean let out a low growl.

"Louder," urged Cas, and he backed it up with a yank to Dean's hair. "Do you like that? Do you like it when I fuck you?”

“Yeah,” said Dean at a slightly higher volume.

“Do you want me to fuck you harder?” Cas snapped his hips, and Dean whimpered. “You’ll have to speak up, Dean.” Snap. “Tell me you want it.” Snap, snap.

Dean started babbling, voice rising to a near-yell as Cas picked up the pace in response: “I want it, Cas, come on, I want it so bad, please, fuck me, fuck me, more, please— _ohfuckyesI’mgonnacome,”_ and he narrowly missed cracking his head on the side of the tub when he fell forward. Cas pulled his hips back up, gripping them hard enough to bruise; he was sobbing out his own orgasm when he realized.

"Shit," he muttered at the same time Dean said, out of breath, "You're not wearing a condom."

“No,” said Cas after a long moment, pulling out. “I completely forgot. Sorry. Is that a problem?”

“Well, uh, not on my end? I mean,” Dean wiggled around to face him, sitting down with a grimace, “I was OK last time I checked, and I hadn’t actually had sex since then.”

“I have. Since. Well, not unprotected. Wait…mostly not.” Cas sighed and stood up, climbing out to wrap himself in one of the needlessly fluffy towels. “Shit, I’m sorry, Dean. I’ll go in Monday.”

“OK. It’s probably fine, just a mess. We probably should’ve talked about this before, huh?” Dean grabbed the soap for an undignified wash. 

“Yes. We are bad adults, I’m sorry.”

“Dude, stop apologizing, you’ll do what you can, we’ll go from there.” He paused, suddenly very interested in the drain stopper. “But, uh, while we’re bringing stuff up. Are you sleeping with anybody else?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. Do you, uh, want to?”

Cas shrugged. “No.”

“Me neither.”

“Then that’s settled. I would like to sleep with you more often, though,” said Cas, offering a hand to help him out of the high-sided tub.

“Obviously. And likewise. I can’t believe you could fuck me like that before coffee.”

“And at the crack of dawn, too. It’s all right, you can refer to me as a sex god, I won’t let it go to my head.”

Dean snorted. “Whatever, your highness. Come on, let’s get dressed and find ourselves a brunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the pie for breakfast quote's actually E.B. White, but whatever.
> 
> I think there's only chapter left in this part? We'll see how it goes. Comments, kudos, pats on the head appreciated as always, lovelies!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two just will not stop talking when I finally get 'em to stop fucking, so we've got another chapter to go!

Dean was plowing through a plate-dwarfing stack of pancakes when Cas said shyly, "I thought of something we could do today, if you're interested."

He didn't continue right away; Dean swallowed and asked, "Is it spanking? Because yes."

Cas's coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth. "What? No. Really?"

"Uh, yeah? If you're comfortable."

"I--I'll consider it. Definitely. But I wasn't suggesting anything sexual for once. I thought, if you wanted, we could check out early and drive up to my house in Pontiac? Spend the night there instead?"

Dean’s heart fluttered a little. "Oh, wow. Yeah, I think I'd love that, in fact. Thank you."

"Well, it only seems logical, since I've been in your bed—"

"My new bed, that you bought me. Still can't get over that."

"Purely selfish, Dean. I didn't want to spend a week sleeping on the floor. I'd love to see you in my own bed, though, have something to picture when we're apart."

"You'll be picturing me naked and writhing, I assume."

Cas smiled. "I do like you like that."

"I like when you make me like that." They shared a stare that gradually smoldered too much for company; luckily the waitress broke the moment before someone ended up with a groping foot in their crotch.

Back at the hotel, they gathered their things in a haze of half-aroused distraction. Dean made the bed; Cas messed it up by tackling him onto it for a bout of kissing, pinning him down by the shoulders while he licked at his jaw, the hollow of his throat. "You're insatiable," Dean mumbled, wiggling under him restlessly. "But honestly, I need a break or I'll never be able to drive properly."

Reluctantly, Cas let go and stood up, helping Dean rearrange the bed into a state of decorum. "Should we take both cars?" he asked. 

"That makes sense," said Dean. "Otherwise, what, leave one in Hannibal and we'd have to drive back?"

"Ugh, logistics ruin everything. I'd much rather be on the road with you."

"Me too. We'll figure out how to do it sometime, OK? Just get in my car and drive. The Impala's like piloting a boat, man, you'll feel like a goddamn explorer. And everyone in their plastic compacts defers to you, it's great."

“I can’t wait,” said Cas, slipping his arms around him. “God, Dean, can we do this next weekend too? And the weekend after that?”

Dean rested his forehead on Cas’s shoulder and sighed. “I can’t, Cas, you know that. It’s hard enough missing you, please don’t make me feel guilty too.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. It’s just…Dean, I actually _pine_ when you’re not around. This close to doodling your name on my notebook.”

"I know. I've done some wistful staring out the window myself. It sucks, Cas, but we knew what we were getting into when we started." Dean kissed him, gently, an echo of Cas's goodbye kiss from their first morning together, quick and sweet. A kiss that had set the tone for their entire relationship.

 _Relationship._ For Dean, thinking the word still set off a chain of conflicting emotions, expressed bodily: fear made his heart sink, desire rose warm through his stomach, wonder made him dizzy. He leaned into Cas, held him tighter. "Fuck it," he said finally. "Ride with me. It doesn't make sense, but none of this makes sense."

Cas just nodded.

*******

They found a parking garage for Cas’s car and set forth in the Impala, gas mileage be damned. Cas navigated and manned the radio, which meant maintaining a steady stream of the same classic rock jams at Dean's request. He burst out laughing when Dean started singing along to Bon Jovi: "Shut up," Dean said, coloring. "This is a good song."

"Oh, the song's fine, it's just you can be so goddamn _butch_ sometimes, Dean. Muscle car, retro tunes—where’d all this come from?"

Dean shrugged. "My dad, I guess? He was—well, he was pretty traditional gender-wise. Breadwinner, strong silent type, 'walk it off,’…hell, he went hunting on the weekends. And I worshiped him when I was a kid, so I kind of took on some of that. Which was rough when the mental illness kicked in, believe me, because suddenly I was full of all this fucking emotion I couldn't control, and I still feel like it makes me less of a man sometimes."

“You know it doesn’t, though, right? Masculinity’s not just one thing.” Cas squeezed his thigh. “And you’re plenty man enough for me.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, stop.” Still, he dropped a hand from the wheel to tangle his fingers through Cas’s. “I do know that, objectively, but it’s good to be told once in a while.”

They held hands for a few miles before Cas asked, “Did you ever come out to him?”

Dean sighed, shook his head. “I like to think I would have at some point. I just—I don’t honestly know if he would have treated me differently, but he would never have thought of me the same way, and I couldn’t face that. I didn’t want to know what would happen, so I just avoided the subject and only brought home girls. I think my mom might’ve guessed, but we never talked about it either.” He shifted in his seat. “Can we, uh, can change the subject? Talking about my dead parents is kinda killing my buzz."

"Sure. What would you rather talk about?"

"I dunno. Do we have to talk?"

"We're an hour out, and I can't read in the car. Not much else to do besides road head."

"Do not attempt that until you'd like to die in a fiery conflagration."

"I'd rather not." A fuzz of crop futures started breaking through the music, and Cas punched buttons absently until he found something appropriately rockin'. "Do you know any car games? All I did as a kid was recite Bible verses."

"I can race you through the alphabet from billboards and stuff. I warn you, though, I'm still reigning Winchester backseat champ."

"You're on." He scanned the horizon: "A, AHEAD, on that McDonald's sign."

As it turned out, Cas was a natural, and he'd beaten Dean to Z ("Work Zone, ha") five out of seven by the time he had to start giving directions again. It was mid-afternoon when they pulled into his driveway, winter sun bright on the bare apple tree by the door, the pale green shutters he'd painted himself one ambitious spring. They sat in the car and looked at it, the engine slowly ticking itself still.

“It’s nice,” said Dean after a moment.

“It’s small,” said Cas, “but it’s mine. Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”


	7. Chapter 7

While Cas's two-story bungalow dwarfed Dean's studio, it still wasn't large. "It's enough for me, though," Cas said as they stepped onto the veranda, bare but for a rickety swing. "Two big rooms and a kitchen downstairs, bed and bath upstairs. And there are a lot of windows, which I love."

"It's sort of embarrassing that I'm still impressed when someone my age owns a house, but I am." Dean followed him inside, resisting the urge to hang back, and looked around: the decor at least was familiar, because it was dominated by books. Tall shelves flanked a TV stand, towering over an older flatscreen, and a shorter one sat next to the door, a stack of mail and a pair of sunglasses on top. Dean tossed his keys next to them without a second thought. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas caught the movement and smiled. "Go ahead, make yourself at home."

"Oh, right," said Dean, and reached out for the keys, blushing; Cas intercepted his hand and held it.

"Dean, don't be silly, I meant it. Come on, you can take your shoes off if you want."

Shrugging, Dean bent down to unlace his boots, and Cas took advantage of the motion to press up behind him, hands slipping onto his hips. Dean froze for a second, but then recovered, thinking _two can play at this game_ ; he ground his ass into Cas's crotch until he gasped, and his grip on Dean's hips tightened."Come upstairs," he purred, and Dean bit his lip and nodded.

His boots hurriedly removed, Dean allowed himself to be led through a room with more bookshelves and an overflowing desk, up a flight of stairs. Cas's bedroom was tucked up under the eaves, ceiling rising to a peak above the large window that faced west out over the backyard. Here, too, there were bookshelves, low ones to fit beneath the sloped roof, and a dresser too small for the clothes spilling out of it. Dean barely noticed the bed before he was on it, Cas on top of him nuzzling his neck. "Want to go for round four?" asked Cas, and thrust his growing erection into his hip.

Dean kissed him before replying. "I'm gonna have to say no right now, sorry, my ass is sore from driving. And round three. We could make out for a while, though?" He paused. "Uh, second base is fine."

"Done and done." And then Cas took Dean's face in his hands and kissed him again, and Dean dissolved in sensations, some familiar (Cas's tongue in Dean's mouth, Cas's fingers cool on his skin), some new (the give of a different mattress, the fading light of the day bathing their twined bodies in light). He liked it here.

*******

Dean asked to top that night, after a dinner of Chinese takeout on the couch. The curtains above the bed were closed, but the streetlight in the yard bled through, shining on Cas's face slack with bliss while Dean stroked two fingers over his prostate. “Naked and writhing, was it?” Dean asked. “You look pretty good like this yourself, baby.”

“I feel pretty good,” Cas said. “Fuck, do that again.”

Dean did it again, and bent his head to lick up Cas's cock. Cas arched his spine, pushed back down onto Dean's fingers, gasped when Dean took him deeper. "So good, Dean. I love your mouth."

Dean grunted around him and hollowed his cheeks to suck, slipping in a third finger as Cas's hips lifted of their own accord. He built a rhythm between hands and mouth, spinning out the taut thread of Cas's pleasure until his head was yanked up by the hair; Cas was staring at him, eyes wild. "Fuck me, Dean," he said. "Please."

Cas had never begged before, and Dean couldn't resist teasing out more, moving up to kiss his mouth with fingers still buried deep, crooking them to hit the right spot again. This time Cas whined, lower body twisting: "Please, Dean, I want you inside, now."

Pulling out at last, Dean hesitated. "Should I, uh, should I wear a condom?"

Cas frowned at the reminder. "Yes. Just because I screwed up this morning doesn't mean we should throw caution to the winds. Also I just washed these sheets."

So Dean suited up, pushed Cas's knees up to his chest—"You're more flexible than I am, huh"—and lined up, sinking into him with a groan. "Oh God," he muttered into his shoulder. "Fuck, baby, you feel so fucking good."

“You too. Gentle and slow, Dean, I want this your way.” Cas wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist, rolled against him, and Dean held on, thrusting into him at a leisurely pace and pressing as much of their skin together as possible. They panted into each other’s mouths as they climbed; Cas whispered “I love you” and Dean gave it back in kisses, and they came within seconds of each other, a mess of sweaty limbs and clutching hands.

Once he’d caught his breath, Dean went to dispose of the condom and grab tissues to clean Cas’s come-striped chest, then threw himself back on the bed, stretching out happily. “Your bed’s nice, I like it,” he said.

“Thanks.” Cas rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. “Dean, I want to talk about this.”

Dean didn’t look at him. “About what?”

“About how I don’t want you to leave tomorrow. And about how you don’t either. Right?”

Dean huffed out a breath. “No, Cas, of course I don’t. Of course I wanna stay in this bed with you forever. You know I can’t, we’ve talked about this, you know it makes me feel like shit when you ask and I have to say no.”

“I do, I know. I’m not asking you to stay now, Dean, I’m aware we have separate lives to maintain at present, but...you know I don’t want to keep doing this, right? I love you, Dean, I want to see you every day, and those four hundred miles, they just keep getting farther.”

“What am I supposed to do, though?” Dean asked, voice rising. “What are _we_ supposed to do? We’ve been together for two months, you can’t just, what, sell your house and come crash in my shitty apartment. “

“Why not?”

Dean sat up, knowing his anger was unreasonable but unable to stop it. “Because, Cas, this isn’t a fucking fairy tale, we don’t get to live happily ever after. We’ll keep this up until we can’t and then we’ll lose each other.”

“No. _No,_ I won’t accept that.” Cas’s eyes blazed with answering fury. “I’m not saying I’ll call a realtor Monday, that I’m gonna pack up the Saab and follow you home. I know two months is nothing in the grand scheme of things. But isn’t that the endgame? Can’t we just admit that that’s going to happen down the line? I’m more mobile, I can write anywhere, we’ll find a bigger place. When is your lease up?”

Dean slid back down the bed, dizzy with possibility. “June, I think. Do you really want to move in with me?”

“I’m embarrased to admit how long I’ve wanted to, Dean. If you’ll have me.”

“Oh, fuck, of course I will. I’m sorry you even have to ask, Cas.”

“I’m glad you said yes.” Cas kissed him, a seal to the pact. “June, then. God willing.”

Dean swallowed hard, returned the kiss. “June.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another arc draws to a close...and while our boys are being snuggly and romantic, I'm gonna send some love your way as well, my lovely and talented and beautiful commenters. You are the wind beneath my wings.


End file.
